


Under the Lights

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Series: Paternoster Row: the spinoff [8]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Sexual Harassment, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:16:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1646687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mysterious note brings Jenny and Vastra to the theatre. Can our heroines discover the electrifying truth? And will their relationship survive their flirtatious client?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Lights

“Mail's certainly piled up in our absence,” Jenny notes, brandishing a paper knife and slicing through her foes.

“Anything of especial interest?” Vastra asks, shuffling through her own pile of correspondence. “No word from Henry and Anaya... It seems Doyle has welcomed a daughter.”

“Has he?” Jenny blinks. “Congratulations to him.”

“Have you thought about raising an infant of our own?” Vastra asks. Her crests flare as Jenny's jaw drops. “I inquire only because it seems to be the sort of thing which human females do,” she continues, trying desperately to paper over what she now realizes must have been a dreadful shock.

“We aren't...compatible...that way, are we?” Jenny asks, turning the pale shade of green which suits neither of them. 

“No, no; you are in no danger of fertilizing a clutch of my eggs,” Vastra reassures her. 

“I can't say that I've tossed that one around my head too often,” Jenny admits. “As if we aren't scandalous enough, eh, madame? Certainly not married.” Would she want a more permanent arrangement if she could get one? Raising a child together would certainly be a long-term proposition.

“Still, with all the young ones perennially dashing about, and now with Doyle starting a brood of his own,” Vastra muses, “I cannot help but wonder if we would be well-suited to child-rearing.”

“Perhaps,” Jenny allows. She must admit she hadn't expected this outburst of maternal instinct from madame, but the idea did have a certain appeal. “It would mean a lot of changes,” she cautions.

“I suppose so, and you are young yet yourself,” Vastra relents. “And we have enough work caring for an entire city without adding another burden at the moment.” She concludes the sentence by slicing open another letter. “Speaking of which...” The large envelope contains a flyer for a play, with a message written on the back. “'My dressing room. Urgent. Before matinee.' It is signed,” she concludes, “P.A.”

Jenny turns the flyer over. “Most likely Pauline Abernathy,” she surmises. “Talented actress, excellent singer, and drop-dead gorgeous, per her countless admirers. And the star of this afternoon's performance at the Savoy Theatre. Fancy an operetta, madame?”

“And are you one of those admirers?” Vastra teases, though if she is quite honest with herself, one of her great fears is that Jenny will abandon her for someone more familiar, more...human. Someone who could sire young upon her if she desired them, even.

“I like a bit of fine singing as much as the next lass,” Jenny replies with a grin. She really shouldn't tease Vastra like this, she knows, but sometimes she can't help herself. “Come on madame: an afternoon at the theatre, perhaps a case to solve, and the company of a beautiful woman—by which I mean you.” Vastra may fancy herself the logical, analytical one, but Jenny knows her lizard is as prone to flattery as any ape, and they link arms to head upstairs.

***

Jenny, quite naturally, begins pulling off her clothes as they reach their bedroom, but stops when Vastra turns to the closet. “New toy tucked away, madame?” The invention of the mechanized hysteria cure in 1869 was a wonderful day as far as Jenny was concerned, though it had somewhat less medicinal uses than the original intention.

Vastra's crests flare wider than Jenny has seen them in months. “Oh! No, I merely thought we should get changed. We are going out for respectable entertainment, and I thought we might stop at one of the nicer restaurants in town for a quick luncheon first.”

“Why madame!” Jenny cries in mock-astonishment, pressing a hand. “Are you asking me on a date? And a fancy date, no less.”

“I rather suppose I am. Although usually you would wait until afterward to help me out of my dress.” Vastra grins over her shoulder as Jenny fusses with ties and buttons.

“I suppose I can't just wear a suit,” Jenny prods, and hangs up Vastra's dress to select a nicer one. Unfortunately, neither her maid's uniform nor the usefully-outfitted dress the TARDIS produced for her are quite up to par. “Would save a lot of hassle getting dressed, and at least one of us could run properly, and I could carry things in my pockets instead of trying to pack a scanner, a knife, a pistol, and a dozen other things into my bag.” Vastra commissioned Westing to make her a three-piece suit for her birthday last year. It is riddled with pockets of all shapes and sizes, and Jenny loves it somewhere in between chocolate and her katana. 

“For me you may wear what you please, or nothing at all,” Vastra reminds her, planting a kiss on the side of Jenny's neck. “I think you look fine regardless. But for them, I am afraid you are no longer quite as convincing as a boy, at least in broad daylight, despite Strax's confusion,” she continues, finger tracking Jenny's curves. The younger woman shudders and turns to her own wardrobe. “I suppose I must look quite odd to you,” Vastra comments, rolling a stocking up one green, muscular calf. She knows her customized corset, padded to conceal her absent bust, had been a surprise, and what she had between her legs was altogether different (though analogous for all of the pleasurable uses) than Jenny's.

“Your eyes are a bit close together,” Jenny teases, pulling Vastra into a kiss. She wants badly to push the older woman back onto the bed and spend the next two hours tracing every scale with her fingers and her tongue, but she'll be good. Date first, then debauchery. She does like to make Vastra's crests flare, to make her laugh. But she prefers to make her scream. Her lips turn up at the corners, and she steps into her dress.

***

“Ah, electric lighting!” Vastra exclaims as they step inside, gesturing at the bulbs with her parasol. “You know, your Dr. Maxwell only recently discovered that light and electromagnetism were one and the same, more or less. Quite impressive for an ape scientist, really.” She knows she should not tease Jenny so, Vastra thinks, but the temptation is so very strong, and, well, Vastra has never been good at resisting temptation where Jenny is concerned. 

“Well, just so long you can't hide any gas-monsters in them,” Jenny says with a grin. “Though I suppose we'll run into an alien made of lightning one of these days.”

They are early, per the note's request, and there is very little in the way of a crowd. They slice easily through the autograph-seekers and picture-takers, and Pauline locks the door behind them. “Pleased to meet you,” Jenny says, introducing them. “Now, what is so urgent?” she asks, producing the flyer.

“Other than you?” Pauline asks, sidling closer to Jenny, slipping behind her. “One can turn a blind eye if one chooses, but it's quite obvious to a fellow sapphist...” Jenny rears back and slaps her as Pauline places a kiss on her cheek. Client or no, nobody touches her like that, she thinks, eyes ablaze. “Do you prefer the term lesbian, then? I'm not fond of sodomite or buggerer...but I'm not anal about it.” She laughed at her joke and circled back into the center of the room. “What do you call someone who just likes to take a pretty girl to bed in between all the pretty boys, anyway? There really isn't a word for someone like me—not that there ever was,” she adds with a salacious wink. “Just as well that the law doesn't consider I exist since the alternative is a trip to jail.” She continues past the silence. “I hope you don't mind if I change while we talk. I've got to get my costume on.”

“Not if you don't mind,” Jenny whispers, and Vastra shakes her head as Pauline takes off her robe. A bit of a look didn't hurt, she promised herself, so long as it was nothing more than that. She figured a good slap had made her limits clear, and if not, well, she has two hands.

“I understand the exigencies of show business,” Vastra says, trying very hard to remain collected. Neither Jenny nor Vastra can help but look. Pauline Abernathy is exceedingly beautiful, and knows it, and in just her chemise and drawers looks more confident and put together than either of the other women in their fancy gowns. Sweet goddess, Vastra thinks. She can understand the horde of photographers building outside, and she could hardly fault Jenny if she decided that she wanted to have an affair. Indeed, she would consider paying for the privilege to watch. 

“Ah yes,” Pauline says, fastening her garters to her stockings, “You did rather capitalize on your deformity, as I recall. I must borrow some of your secrets if you've managed to lure such a pretty young thing into your lair.” Damn this temptress, anyhow, Vastra thinks, with a sudden flash of jealousy. She briefly considers skipping the play and having Pauline for lunch, but then she has enough murders to atone for.

“Things have been going missing,” Pauline begins, tugging on her corset. “Little things at first, then bigger things, then whole people. Stagehands.” She fastens her crinoline into place, and then her petticoats atop that. “Good, stout lads, and honest. Not the type to steal. Most divas wouldn't notice that sort of thing, you know, and fewer still would care.” She slips into a camisole and finally enlists Jenny's help to strap her into her dress. “Such clever fingers!” she observes with a wink. “You know, it's hard enough just acting in this get-up; I can't imagine solving murders dressed like this.”

“We usually aren't,” Vastra replies, a little flustered, then more so as she realizes what she has said.

“Goodness!” Pauline says, licking her lips.

“Is there anything else?” Jenny taps her foot impatiently. She might have to slap Pauline again, just on principle. Lord only knew how many gentleman admirers she'd had to dissuade forcibly, and with the katana if necessary.

“Now you ask, once I'm all dressed,” Pauline pouts. “No, I haven't noticed anything else.” A polite knock came at the door. “That will be Susie to do my makeup. How much will this set me back?”

“Five hundred pounds,” Vastra quotes, firing from the hip. Jenny stifles a laugh; that is more than double what they would charge a typical client for this sort of work. But Pauline agrees without a blink as a middle-aged woman comes in, and the two detectives leave to find themselves shooed out of the backstage area.

***

“I hope Ms. Abernathy is aware of the toxic nature of the cosmetics she is using,” Vastra says icily.

“You don't have to worry about her,” Jenny reassures her. In any way, she thinks. Pretty, yes. But the woman is quite clearly an utter bitch, though Jenny, in a moment of unusual charity, decides that it takes all sorts. “You're more beautiful by far. Inside and out.”

Vastra smiles as they move toward their seats. Perhaps she will find it within herself to enjoy the afternoon's entertainment after all. Just then a tiny flash of silver on the floor catches the corner of Vastra's eye. Through her veil—thicker than usual to bear up under the electric lights—she cannot quite make it out, but it looks strangely out of place. She hisses and turns to chase it, only to be met at the end of the hall by a pair of burly stagehands. “Sorry, miss,” one of them says. “No spectators allowed backstage until the show's over.” 

Vastra snarls, but turns away, heading back to her seat. Thanks to her bulky dress, she had lost sight of the little metal...thing anyway. “Keep your eyes open, Jenny,” Vastra cautions her. “I caught a glimpse of something fast and metallic.”

“You don't think—” Jenny asks, but is cut off by an usher, who points out that the play is about to begin. Neither of them dare say Cybermen.

“We do ask that our visitors remain quiet, or they will be asked to leave,” he informed them solicitously. Vastra and Jenny exchange tedious looks. It will not do to be thrown out of the theatre before they can determine if anything is amiss, and they resign themselves to checking for any obvious traps, and staying on their guard. 

But the first act passes quietly enough, with the most excitement coming from the stage itself, with the crowd laughing and cheering loudly. “I am afraid I did not follow much of the nuance of the plot,” Vastra says ruefully, “though the singing and dancing were quite pleasant.”

“Not too much to understand, madame,” Jenny says with a grin. She keeps a watch on the proceedings, but doubts that anything will happen during the intermission. “Just a basic marriage plot. Charlotte loves Eric, who loves Mabel, who loves Richard, who loves Charlotte. Meanwhile their friends and families keep throwing obstacles at them, which will all be cleared up in Act Two, so that by the end of the play, they can couple off and get married.”

Vastra nods. “Yes, I had followed that much. Why do they not simply have an orgy? They could even invite the milkmaid and the duke's son from the sub-plot if they liked.”

“Because most people these days only get married to one person at a time, madame,” Jenny explained patiently. “She's foreign,” she whispered to a bemused and somewhat offended looking eavesdropper. “Very foreign. Now mind your own beeswax.” The matron blinked, but stepped aside.

“Remind me: is marriage for purposes of reproduction, of entertainment, or of commitment?”

“All three, usually, madame.” Oh dear, Jenny thinks. This may take some serious explaining and discussion, she decides, realizing that they haven't exactly negotiated boundaries for their relationship.

Vastra nods. “That explains some of my confusion. Female Silurians lay clutches of eggs, which are then fertilized, usually by multiple males. Romantic pairings are often a different matter altogether, and tend to be much more exclusive. And then there are always purely enjoyable affairs, in which none of the parties desire emotional fidelity or procreative exclusivity.”

“Sounds awful complicated, madame.” Did Vastra expect her to seek out a male to fertilize her eggs? Or simply for her own pleasure?

“No more so than using one social construct to capture three or more distinct relationships, not to mention the economic partnership,” Vastra scoffs. 

Jenny mulls this over for a moment, then shrugs. “Well, when you put it like that, madame.” She thinks some more, which causes Vastra to smile inwardly. She has been trying to get Jenny to use her logical faculties more often; not that her intuition and familiarity with human nature aren't sufficient reasons to keep her as a detective partner. Or her swordsmanship and her lock-picking ability. Or the way her rump looks in a catsuit... “Are we...physically exclusive?” she asks, snapping Vastra out of her reverie. “Is that why you got so angry with Ms. Abernathy?” Jenny hadn't thought about it before, hadn't realized there were so many terms to discuss in a relationship, hadn't quite realized how much norms can differ.

Now it is Vastra's turn to choose her words carefully. “I was angry with her for many reasons, including her lack of respect for your wishes and bodily autonomy. And it is quite true that I have rather grown used to having my little ape all to myself. However, should you have truly have desired intercourse with her—or anyone else—I should not have stopped you, and should have welcomed you back. All that being said,” Vastra continued, “I have often feared that, once you had...interacted with another human, you would prefer the comforts of your own species.”

Jenny coughed. “If it makes you feel any better, I did interact with a few girls before I met you. And I'm never going to leave you.” And certainly not for Pauline Abernathy, she thinks.

“In that case,” Vastra said, grin peeking out from beneath her veil, “did you notice anything unusual during the first act?” she asked, still basking in emotional sunlight.

Jenny shakes her head. “No more little metal things running around. Didn't get much of a chance to use my scanner, but it's the little one anyway and it's not as sensitive. Did you?”

“Nor did I, my love.” Vastra flinches as the lights flash, but the rest of the crowd begins meandering back into their seats. “What was that?”

“It's a signal to the audience that the intermission is almost over,” Jenny explains. Her family hadn't taken her to many plays, but she had had the same worry when she was a girl. “We'd best get back to our seats,” she continues. “They won't let us stay out here.”

“So much for business before pleasure,” Vastra mutters, but dutifully takes her seat. As the final stragglers shuffle their way back to their places, it dawns on her. If you wanted to ambush as many people as possible, what better time than just before the opening curtain? Everyone watching for the curtain to open, the sounds of the orchestra covering any incidental noises, everyone in their seats. “Jenny,” she whispers, and turns to her companion just as the cyber-conversion units drop from the sky.

Well, the ceiling at any rate, Vastra amends. The headset struggles to latch onto her over her crests, giving her enough time to produce a derringer from her sleeve and blast the thing to smithereens. “Jenny!” she cries, and tries to wrest the device free.

“So much for electricity, madame,” Jenny says, and laughs weakly. This, Vastra somehow notices, causes a small spark to leap from the dreadful machine. Of course, Vastra remembers, Cybermen are vulnerable to emotion. “Jenny Flint,” Vastra begins, then wets her lips. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes!” Jenny exclaims as the cyber-conversion unit shorts out and releases her. “A thousand times yes,” she continues as Vastra sweeps her off her feet and twirls her around. “Now let's save these people,” she concludes, giving Vastra a kiss.

Vastra spares a horrified glance down below as a mixture of partially-converted humans and Cybermats round up the orchestra and the cast before Jenny grabs her hand and they run. She follows Jenny blindly before remembering. “The lights!” she exclaims. “There must be a central control for the electricity for the whole theatre!” 

“My thoughts exactly, madame,” Jenny proclaims proudly as they reach the now-abandoned control room and begin frantically turning switches off. Vastra screams as a Cybermat leaps for her: evidently not entirely abandoned. Jenny grabs it and dashes it to the floor before pulling a revolver from her bag and drilling a pair of holes into it. Vastra, bent over and breathing heavily from the ambush, spots the master electric control, and slams the lever to 'off.' “Now we've just got that lot up on stage to deal with,” Jenny points out. “Frontal assault probably suicidal, and the audience might get hurt.”

“Through the wings, then—we can recruit the surviving crew members.” Jenny nods, and they are off at once.

Jenny finds a trio of burly fellows being menaced by a mostly-completed Cyberman—but not quite. Jenny winces, then puts it out of its misery with her revolver. “Come on, then,” she says to their blank faces as she reloads, then grabs a large, heavy-looking wrench in her other hand. 

“You can argue with her if you want,” says one of them as he grabs an ax, “but I'll be at the back end of that line.” Idly, Jenny wonders how she must look, angry and heavily armed. She doesn't care, mind you, but she does occasionally wonder all the same. But then she reaches the stage, and Vastra has already led half-a-dozen stagehands with hammers and crowbars into the fray, and with a scream of wrath, she starts a charge of her own. She tries to save her bullets, but when two of the mostly metal men gang up on her, she blasts one before they can overwhelm her.

“Thank you,” burble the remains of the human inside as it dies, and Jenny wipes the tears from her eyes with her sleeve as she resets her stance. The weight on the wrench is all wrong, she thinks as she lands a blow. Strangely satisfying, but wrong. 

Still, they make short work of almost all of them until the cyber-forces are down to what look like two proper, though damaged, Cybermen, for most of their foes have been partially-converted, and with what looks like shoddier materials. Vastra has some idea about what has happened, but she wants to make sure. “What brings you to earth?” she asks.

The two remaining Cybermen exchange emotionless looks, then apparently decide that they may as well tell the truth. “We were cyber-scouts,” begins the first. “Our mission was to find inhabited planets with life-forms suitable for upgrading and establish a forward base, upgrading the local population and adapting their technology to our purposes.”

“However, our ship was pulled off course by a time corridor,” the second continues. Vastra's eyes widen. “We rematerialized here, in this entertainment auditorium. Though our ship was damaged and we could not make contact with Mondas, our mission was clear, and we devised a plan to effect mass cyber-conversion.”

“Have you encountered a Dalek?” Vastra asked, hoping against hope that they had found and destroyed the thing.

The two Cybermen trade blank stares again, but this time there is a palpable sense of fear rather than resignation. “There is a Dalek here, in London?”

“Just as well they haven't teamed up,” Jenny quips to Vastra. “That could really spell doomsday for England.”

“We were not aware of the presence of a Dalek,” the first Cyberman notes.

“We must change our plans accordingly. The Dalek must be deleted.”

“Agreed. Mass cyber-conversion must proceed at all costs.”

“This unit concurs; your analysis is flawless. Engage emergency power supply for cyber-conversion.” With that, the two Cybermen fell, motionless, to the floor.

“Ordinarily I'd be happy about two more dead Cybermen,” Jenny notes, “But I don't have a good feeling about this one.” 

“They have used their own power supplies to restart the cyber-conversion,” Vastra realizes. Almost noble for an emotionless cyborg.

“What now? We can't go around proposing to everyone,” Jenny says with a laugh, which sparks Vastra's memory.

“No, but we can make them feel emotions.” She turns to the players. “Please, I beg of you: the show must go on.”

“I don't think this is what they mean when they say a captive audience,” Pauline cracks drily. “Come on, top of the second act, big comedy and dance number,” she shouts. “Places, everyone!” she cries, and Jenny and Vastra scuttle off-stage, dragging the Cybermen with them; if their first plan does not work, they too must have an alternative, and perhaps there is some way to deactivate the converter inside the Cybermen.

Jenny runs her scanner over the two metal bodies. “Nothing.” She shakes her head. Just as she sighs, she hears laughs come from the audience. Then more, and still more, until the entire crowd is roaring, and the laughs are cut through with sizzles and sparks as the machinery fails. Both women share a relieved sigh, then a kiss.

***

Once they have squared away everything, Pauline corners them. “Well, you certainly did what I asked,” she admits, writing out the check. “I can't say that I expected any of this. God knows none of us did.” She shivers. “Such a dreadful mess—those poor, poor men.” Vastra and Jenny nod somberly. “So, how did the two of you get out?”

“Love,” Vastra says with a smile.

“Didn't figure I could come between the two of you,” Pauline replies. “Can't say I'm surprised. Well, if either of you decide to pay me a personal visit...”

“No, thank you,” Jenny tells her. “Lunch, madame?” Vastra smiles, and leads Jenny out of the theatre on her arm.

***

After a short trip to the bank (Vastra prefers not to carry such large checks around), they procure a table at a cafe.

“Were you serious about wanting to marry me?” Jenny asks. “Or was that just to get me out of that thing?” Jenny touches her head, grateful for the feel of soft hair and smooth skin.

“Of course I was serious,” Vastra says, cupping her hand around Jenny's. “Unlike that very silly play.” She still thinks the characters should have negotiated some sort of polyamorous quadrangle. “I suppose we never will know if Charlotte married Eric, Richard, or Mabel.” Her twinkling eyes belie her straight face, and she and Jenny laugh until the waiter brings them their drinks.

“We could always go back and watch the play again,” Jenny offers, eyes laughing herself.

“No, thank you,” Vastra replies, quite seriously. “I think I have had enough of the theater for some time.” They giggle again. “Jenny, do you recall the plans you were making to upgrade the library from gas to electric lighting?”

“Yes, madame,” Jenny replies.

“Make sure you get estimates for gas light as well.” 

“Very good, madame,” Jenny says, and they both burst out laughing again. “Maybe we should look into bio-luminescence, like lightning bugs.”

“Oh dear,” Vastra says with a sigh. “I can only imagine what sort of alien menace glows in the dark.” They ignore the strange looks from nearby patrons, their hands clasped at the center of the table.

“We'll have to call the Doctor,” Jenny says at last. “If we want to get married.”

“I do,” Vastra says.

“It won't change that much,” Jenny cautions. “We won't be able to tell most folks. And it's not like married couples don't cheat on each other all the time.”

“Will you still be my beautiful ape? My truest love?” Jenny nods silently to each in turn, and Vastra beams. “Then no,” she says. “I suspect that nothing important will change. Though I think I shall be content with that state of affairs.” She smiles beatifically at Jenny, who beams in reply. 

“Really, I can think of only one other obstacle,” Jenny says at last. 

Vastra cocks her head. “Other than finding someone to marry us? Go on!”

“Who's going to wear the dress?”

Vastra shrugs. “Here I thought you were going to ask who was going to give us away. Seeing as how were are fully-grown adults, I expect we can dispense with that tradition, and that whatever answer we come up with for your question will be lovely, though I must say that your gown does suit you.” She grins wickedly at Jenny, who blushes at the compliment. “We should, however, perhaps wear more than simple frocks with nothing underneath; however convenient they may be after the ceremony, they are somewhat indecorous for such a formal occasion.”

“You're probably right, madame,” Jenny says, her own grin turning lecherous. “Though I somehow don't mind taking all those clothes back off as much as I mind putting them on.”

***

They spend the rest of their luncheon making eyes at one another, and talking over this detail and that for their nuptials (Where to have it? How to contact the Doctor? Who to invite?). But once they finish their dessert (including the bit of icing which Vastra slurps from Jenny's finger), they speed along home again eagerly. Waiting for them on the porch, however, are Anaya and Henry.

“It's Nellie,” the clearly distraught boy begins. “We've found her.”

**Author's Note:**

> In 1889, the year this story is set, Mary Louise Doyle, Arthur Conan Doyle's first child, is born. That same year, John Watson and Mary Morstan are married. (At least according to one timeline--the Holmes canon, much like the Doctor Who canon, isn't always internally consistent.)
> 
> When Jenny says "mechanized hysteria cure," she means vibrator. Apparently an orgasm is the cure for hysteria (a made-up disease).
> 
> As far as I know, both Pauline Abernathy and the play in which she appears are complete fiction. However, London was just starting to experiment with electric power, with the Savoy Theatre becoming one of the first buildings to be lit entirely by electric light in 1882. In 1887, the Theatre Royal burned down due to a malfunctioning gaslamp.
> 
> Maxwell's discovery that electricity and visible light were essentially the same sort of stuff came in 1865. Edison patented the light bulb in 1879.
> 
> For my information on Jenny, Vastra, and Pauline's clothing, I used Dressing the Victorian Lady (http://www.literary-liaisons.com/article042.htm).
> 
> The word homosexual has yet to appear in English, hence Pauline's confusion. More nuanced categories are even further from happening. More on this in a later story. Sapphic and lesbian are both references to the (female) Greek poet, Sappho, who lived on the island of Lesbos, writing love poems to women and men. Sodomite refers to the biblical city of Sodom, which was notorious for its sinfulness; how it became tied to non-normative sexual practices is more of a mystery. Interestingly, this is the same root as telling someone to 'sod off.' Compare 'bugger off.'
> 
> Yes, the reference to Doomsday (the episode) was intentional. Yes, the things Vastra says about Silurian mating customs and biology are completely whole cloth.


End file.
